Hero
by LadyAryaBaratheon
Summary: Stiles comforts Erica at a funeral. OneShot, written because I love these two!


**Author's Note:** Hey there :) I'm obsessed with these two, so I knew it was only a matter of time before Sterica fanfics came tumbling out of my mind ;L the funny thing is, I'd planned to write fluff for them and ended up with this! I seem to be unable to write anything but angst :( anyways, enjoy, and please review!

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Teen Wolf or any of these lovely characters!**

Through the haze of rage and grief, she heard the voices around her distantly. It was like the stupid birds outside her window that morning, ridiculously happy and chirpy. She'd been on the verge of reaching out and ripping them apart with her bare hands when she'd heard Derek's car pull up outside her house. She was alone, her dad playing golf and her mother- well, she didn't know exactly where her mother was. Probably doing something that involved botox and their unreasonably good-looking young gardener. Her mother had never really been that touchy-feely with Erica; having an imperfect daughter was almost unthinkable to the former prom queen/cheerleader. Her father was better, but even he'd hardly known what to do when she cried over the bullies at school. They threw toys and pills at her, sticking her in the hospital when she stopped taking the medication.

Derek had taken her here, to this church, where almost everyone she'd ever met was gathered. They were milling around, standing talking in whispers solemnly. The school had pushed out a representative for the funeral of one of their students, but it was fake. The people'd probably never even spoken to him. Fake. She didn't want fake sadness for Boyd. He deserved better than that. Hero of one of the lacrosse games, the team was there, but the people who really mattered weren't dressed in their red jerseys. The people who knew the truth, who didn't believe Boyd'd gone for a walk in the woods and gotten attacked by a stray mountain lion, were in black, like she was.

There was Scott, gazing wistfully at Allison. Anger bubbled in the pit of her stomach at the sight of the dark haired girl, the memory of arrows burying themselves in Boyd replaying in her mind all over again. Jackson, in what looked like a horribly expensive suit, holding hands with Lydia, her strawberry-blonde hair piled up on her head. Isaac, heading towards them with his jaw clenched. And there was Stiles, standing with his dad, his stupid almost-gold eyes sombre and pensive.

They sat at the back. The service was probably lovely, but Erica heard none of it. Boyd was gone. One of her pack was gone. Her best friend. Gone.

Derek had promised they would make the Apha Pack pay, but Erica didn't see how. They'd killed Boyd out of pure _spite_. Erica knew something of spite, but she didn't think she'd kill someone out of it. The Alphas had murdered Boyd because Derek had refused to join them, saying he had his pack already. So they'd decided remove that pack from the equasion.

They were so _strong_. They'd sent Erica and Boyd on their way that night in the woods with a message for Derek. Join us. No _or else_, but it had been heavily implied. And now it had come to fruition.

She stood as Boyd's coffin was hoisted onto the backs of Scott, Isaac, Jackson, Stiles, his father and the one cousin he had, and followed them to the cemetery, her eyes to her feet, her hand on Derek's arm. She could feel the anger bubbling in him; she just didn't see how they were going beat Boyd's killers. _They're so strong_, she thought.

It had begun to rain sometime during the service. She felt the droplets fall into her hair, slid down her scalp. She stood and watched them lower the coffin into the ground, place the flowers on the grave after they'd filled it in, Boyd's father staring with a dazed look in his eyes at the wreaths beaded with rain. She heard Derek say he had to go, felt herself nodding, her hand falling limply to her side after dropping from his arm. Isaac left soon after, offering her a ride home, but she didn't want to go back to her parent's house, to her always-busy father and her glamorous, never-there mother.

She was so angry. So furious. Worse than that, though, was the helplessness, the vulnerability that was meant to have disappeared with her seizures threatening to overwhelm her. It was supposed to _be_ like this; they were supposed to be strong, and beautiful, a force to be reckoned with. She wasn't Erica the Epileptic anymore; she was Erica Reyes, she-wolf extraordinaire, one of the most popular and unattainable girls at school. At least she was supposed to be. _Telling yourself you're strong, you're beautiful, saying it out loud- it doesn't make it real_. It didn't mean she felt that way. And now Boyd, the brother she never had, was dead, and she couldn't even tell herself those things any more, let alone try to believe them.

All of it, making a pass at Scott, distracting Jackson at the rave- none of it was her. She'd decided to hide herself away a long time ago, to become invisible. When Derek turned her, and she didn't want to be invisible anymore, but was still too afraid to open herself up for attack, she decided to become someone else, a strong façade to protect the fearful girl inside. Knowing that now, when almost every guy in school wanted her, but the only one she'd wanted for so long still didn't notice her hadn't helped either.

She felt her finger nails sharpening with her rage-filled thoughts, but couldn't find it in herself to care. She was supposed to have been _strong_; like the superheroes in the comics she'd spent her childhood pouring over while other girls were at slumber parties. _It's not fair_. None of it was fair. What had Boyd done to anyone?

She was supposed to be a hero, but she was just a scared little girl again, weak and vulnerable and frightened. Her sharpened canines nicked her bottom lip as she clenched her teeth, the drop of blood blooming on her tongue like a echo of her body's old whistleblower. The helpless feeling was almost as bad as the times she'd blacked out in a fit, terror and powerlessness the last things she'd known before the world went dark. The darkness was good, though. Peaceful. Or at least it had been until some genius had decided to film her, and then she'd dreaded the defencelessness of being unconscious. The anger, the fear, the need to _do_ something began to bubble up her throat, trying to rip it's way free of her lips in a snarl-

She hadn't felt the rain cease to slide down her cheeks like tears, hadn't felt it stop pummelling the shoulders of her sodden jacket, but she felt the hand slipping into hers, a thumb sliding over her knuckles, ignoring the sharp claws at the ends of her fingers. She jerked her eyes up, and found the soft golden gaze she'd admired from afar so many times.

Ignoring the sharp tooth jutting out of her mouth, Stiles reached up and wiped away the drop of blood beaded on her lip, and then reached back down to grip her hand tight again, making sure the umbrella shielded her from the rain.

Strangely, she felt her teeth growing blunt again, her nails going back to normal, the ones on the hand Stiles was holding shrinking faster than the others. She closed her mouth and swallowed.

"The people who did this are monsters." He said, looking intensely into her eyes, an almost pleading tone to the gaze. "But you're not, Erica."

She closed her eyes, feeling the last of the animalistic rage seep away, to be replaced by grief and fear and misery. She was still angry, but she wasn't going to rip someone's throat out.

"Do you wanna get coffee or something? My dad had to go back to the station, but I have my jeep." He jerked his head towards the parking lot.

Trying to smile, she nodded, and followed him to his car. She didn't know how it had survived, but the innocent, girly part of her realized suddenly that he was still holding her hand.

It was okay, a strangely calm part of her thought, that she wasn't a hero.

Because Stiles always would be.


End file.
